


Standpoint

by Arithanas



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anything, James McGraw always has a narrow vantage point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standpoint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deense/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Наблюдательная позиция](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644246) by [Lazurit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazurit/pseuds/Lazurit)



> My gratitude to [Isis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis) for taking this beta work.
> 
> Setting: After that fight in Episode 2, Second season.

Thomas noticed the split lip.

Thomas made no comment, but the wound was pretty noticeable on James’ rugged face. Thomas noticed the worried look her wife addressed him when she left them to their work, as if begging him to do something about James’ hurt. It was inspiring that she cared for those in his heart, and Thomas issued a silent blessing upon her head.

James, as composed as if nothing mattered but the papers in front of him, sat and sorted the work ahead of them. Thomas noticed the bruise on his temple and the scrapes on his knuckles. Thomas made an educated guess and concluded that he was looking at the aftermath of a fight. He was not sure that he wanted to ask whether James came out on top in that particular scuffle.

“Lieutenant,” Thomas called as he approached the table. “There is no hurry to get started, if you have something else to discuss.”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

James refused to meet his eye, and _that_ was such an extraordinary occurrence that Thomas took the hint. Instead of confronting him, Thomas poured them each a couple of measures of Jamaican rum; it was the drink they always took at the end of their meetings, to remind them of their goals.

Without a word, he put the glass on the table by James’ hand, in silent invitation. James froze at the sight of it. Without a comment, James took the glass and moved it to the centre of the table.

“When a healthy man refuses a drink, it is because his head is full beyond its measure,” Thomas commented, and put his own glass next to James.

“I just want to keep my wits clear while we sort these reports.”

“A clear indication that you regret not having your wits clear before.”

“I don’t think it is relevant to our meeting, my lord.”

James finally raised his eyes to meet Thomas’, and Thomas noticed a glare hiding behind those wide pupils. In those eyes lurked a fury unexpressed, a hurt repressed, an unuttered shame. If that gaze could be translated into an angry shout, James would be screaming at his face in despair.

“Let me know, so I can decide whether or not it is relevant.”

“You have no need to know the petty businesses that transpire in public houses, my lord.”

“Ah. Someone thought it was appropriate to bother you about me…” Thomas understood the gist, if not the details, from James' few words, “or your relationship with me, or with my family, if I’m interpreting it correctly. Am I right?”

James fidgeted in his seat, then bounded from it and started to pace the room. Thomas didn’t push him, knowing the storm that was brewing in his head. After a while, James stopped by the window and stood there, looking outside, his brow knitted with concerned thoughts. His marine bearing was highlighted by the way both of his hands were clasped behind his back.

“You are right.”

“What was it this time? Your appointment, or the fact your parents lacked some illustrious background?”

Thomas made the question with calculated cruelty, but James' hands didn’t attempt to form a fist. That was not the reason.

“They named Miranda,” Thomas reached the correct topic by simple elimination of causes.

James squared his jaw. Thomas could see he was suppressing a snarl.

“Lieutenant, if you don’t mind,” Thomas said, feeling a smile beginning to form on his lips, “what’s your interest in defending my wife’s reputation?”

“That which is not good for the bee-hive cannot be good for the bees.”

“Don’t quote Marcus Aurelius to avoid answering me.”

James unclasped his hands. Thomas noticed the faintest tremor on the tip of his fingers.

“Whoever insults your wife, by transitive property, insults you. I couldn’t allow it.”

“Is that all?”

James put his hands in the windowsill and the square of his shoulders slumped.

“I couldn’t bear for them to use me as a weapon to hurt your good name,” James confessed. It seemed as though the weight of his guilt was crushing him. “I was out of line, since is not my place to take exception on this topic, and for that, I present my deepest apologies.”

“None required, Lieutenant. We couldn’t be troubled by a topic of such little consequence.”

“It is not of little consequence, my lord!”

The way James spat the words to the window pane made Thomas felt a new wave of compassion for this man. No one should be forced to carry the world’s weight on their shoulders.

“I stand corrected,” Thomas said and put his hand on James’ shoulder. “You were hurt, and that’s not little by any measure.”

Thomas would never know what made James turn around and face him. Maybe he was about to unleash his hurt in a violent way, but that harried look was a distressing image. Thomas could not help himself, and didn't want to; his hand tightened on James' shoulder, and he reached out with his other hand to clasp him tightly on the other shoulder as well. James mumbled a distressed protest, but Thomas refused to heed him.

“Let them talk. Miranda and I couldn’t care less about their words, but neither of us want to see you like this.”

“I can’t let them talk.”

“I cannot bear you being hurt,” Thomas declared, and he meant every word. “Please, don’t try me like this again.”

Thomas felt James’ distress like a tremor that scoured his back, followed by small shivers. Finally, James wrapped his arms around Thomas’ body. All his martial prowess and all his daring courage had never prepared James for being loved and cared for.

“I love you,” Thomas said, and kissed the bruise.

James accepted the caress without complaint, but his head was bowed with uneasiness. Thomas hoped he would be able, eventually, to teach him that there was no weakness in allowing himself to be loved.


End file.
